


Just Imagine Me

by Clocksmith



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Light Femdom, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 12:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15365136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocksmith/pseuds/Clocksmith
Summary: I'm abstinent. I don't like riding any lust or desire if I can, even if it's on my own. I've barely touched myself, ever. Even now, I'm not entirely sure where I would enjoy being touched or how. What would get me going or what I would want done to me. What I would want Max doing to me. It's all a vague collection of stroking and heavy breathing whenever I see it inside my head. I don't masturbate. At least, I haven't for a very long time. I guess, to a certain extent, I can't bring myself to do it.But Max can and I'm going to use that fact so hard right now.





	Just Imagine Me

Max is getting frustrated.

Not with me, I don't think. At least, I hope not. She has _always_ said – more maintained, really – that she supports me. She doesn't care if I'm abstinent or not. She won't leave me because I want to wait for sex. Whenever the issue arises, she answers that same way each and every time.

I trust her. I believe in her when she says this. Without a single doubt.

Yet, at the same, I can't help but feel she still has a desire for it; a _lust_. I doubt she'd admit to it outright, though. She's too caring to say it to my face.

But there are the times where Chloe will make a crass joke about sex and Max won't laugh quite as much as she used to. And while sex rarely comes up in casual conversation, (at least, it doesn't whenever I'm around) Max won't really get involved. She just kind of sits there and gets grumpy.

Never angry, really. Nothing vindictive or spiteful. Just… grumpy. I would almost call it cute if I was not the possible cause.

Back before our first anniversary, I actually tried to talk with her about it. I was worried she be expecting a ‘gift’ of some sort in celebration of our first year together. Brooke had done as much for her and Warren’s second anniversary a few weeks prior. I didn't want Max to get her hopes up for something similar.

But she just laughed it all off, called me silly and told me not to worry. She kissed me and it made everything okay. In the end we went out for dinner and stayed up late watching terrible movies on the couch in my room.

I couldn't have asked for anything better for a first anniversary. Not that I have any other relationships to compare it to.

It just felt _right_ for us. I loved it.

But now it's months later and I'm sure I'm right about all of this. Back then, it hadn't really been an issue. I was just worried about a self-imposed expectation more than anything else.

Now I'm worried about my girlfriend being genuinely frustrated with our lack of an overtly physical relationship.

It's not that we aren't physical, per say; we are. I enjoy kissing her, feeling close to her. I really enjoy it. We've slept in the same bed a few times and I've lost count how many nights we've spent just snuggling into each other whilst doing something completely asinine

There's just no… _touching_ in certain places. Intimately or otherwise.

 

I don't even need to keep Max at bay. She's learnt over the last year and a half what I do and do not accept. We've both had a fair few mistakes but after the fact things tend to settle out. We learn, we adapt.

She's hopelessly caring. It's lovely. Even if I _did_ have to take the time to convince her that I wouldn't break if she did something wrong.

I love her to bits. I honestly do.

Which is why I don't want to just leave all this hanging in the air. My girlfriend is frustrated and I want to help her. In the long run too, if I can.

But that leads me back to the current issue at hand of not knowing how to do that.

Well, not knowing how to do what I want to do, at least.

I look into my phone at the conversation Max and I had yesterday. The words I want to type still refuse to leave my fingers and I drop the phone back onto my bed.

Sex isn't a foreign concept to me. I'm not a little girl trapped in a bubble of naivety just because I choose to save something until the best possible moment. I want to save myself until there is someone I irreversibly wish to be connected to for the rest of my life. Someone so important that she gets to be with me in a way that I won't ever be with anyone else. She gets to _have_ me in a way that no one else ever will.

I want the day I get married to be the most memorable day of my life. I don’t want the wedding night to be any different.

Everyone at Blackwell just assumes I'm a stuffy, religious prude with iron underwear and a big padlock strapped to my crotch.

I'm not like that. I think about sex. I think about having sex with Max. I think about _her_ having sex with _me_ and I enjoy the immense feeling of warmth that comes over me whenever I do.

I just… don’t act on it. I make sure I don’t act on it.

There’s nothing stopping me, exactly. I simply don’t want to, not right now.

That’s it. A lot of people condemn me for wanting to wait but I don’t see why it’s any of their business. I want to save everything for that night, no matter how small.

Yet I know full well that Max wants to have sex with me. Even if she knows it isn't going to happen for a very long time, I know that she _wants_ me. I think I enjoy that idea, at least a little. The idea that she wants someone like me in such an intimate way.

 

But at the same time, I want to save all of that. It’s my choice. That doesn’t mean it has to be Max’s choice too.

I’ve never tried to force people to change. Forcing people only hurts in the long run, regardless of how well intentioned you are. It’s something I learned when I was young and it’s a lesson I hold on to.

I don’t want to force Max to be like me. I don’t _expect_ her to be. She is allowed to do things that I choose not to. I just… we need to find things that can be done under both circumstances.

… Despite how counter-productive that idea sounds.

I pick my phone back and begin typing.

‘ _Hey Max’_

I don’t send it. The words are erased shortly after and I retype the same ones out again in the vein hope that my fingers will type out whatever actual words I need without me having to even think about them.

‘ _Hey Angel’_ comes next but pet names don't feel right either. This is something different…

It gets deleted just as fast.

If Max wasn’t visiting her parents, I would just go across the hall and let the words fall out my mouth. I would try that, anyway. It doesn’t always work; I usually freeze up if my brain overloads me with things to worry about.

‘ _Hey sexy’_

I’ve never called Max sexy for as long as I’ve known her and the word seems almost alien when displayed on my phone. Gorgeous, beautiful; I've certainly used a lot of words like that. Plenty of words like that.

She is, though. She is attractive, and brilliant. She is _sexy_ and I should maybe start telling her that.

I’m not entirely sure of what I’m doing. Would calling her sexy make me more open to doing things I wouldn’t otherwise consider? Temptation could rear its ugly head and try its best to ruin me...

Would it lead her on?

I don’t know.

 

But Max has never took things the wrong way before. She’s never really gotten angry at me. We've both gotten annoyed before, but never angry. She wouldn’t get angry at this, right?

I take in a deep breath. A _very_ deep breath.

I send the message.

The words formalise in our conversation and my cheeks feel hotter than they have in a very long time. My hands are suddenly very sweaty, the room much too warm for calling my girlfriend sexy and I'm very, very glad no one can see me right now.

I leap from my bed and lock my room door. Not that I think anyone is going to walk in on me. Not that they're ever going to see anything remotely risqué if they did.

The whole thing just feels safer.

But then maybe I should leave it open? The chance for someone to wander in unannounced would surely keep any lewd temptations I have at bay. I’m even less likely to give in with others so close than I am in my little room.

I could sit outside. In the open air, it would-

My phone chimes up with a familiar tone from my bed and all thoughts of leaving my locked room are tossed aside. I take a shaky breath and wander back to see a reply:

‘ _Hello yourself XD’_ , it says. That isn't quite the response I was going for. Not that I'm honestly sure what I expected to happen this soon. ‘ _I'm sexy now, am I?’_

‘ _Very.’_

Okay, it's started. I've started this. I've started and I can do this.

Oh dear…

‘ _Are you alone?’_

Compared to the previous quick responses, the next one takes time. Every second feels like it's judging me. Those three little dots appear and vanish multiple times before Max eventually replies.

“ _Yeah_ _”,_

Yes! Okay, this is good. I can work with this.

‘ _Why?’_ she adds. _‘Is something wrong?’_

While I would usually want to chide her on thinking something is wrong from the get-go, I'm really hoping the next few minutes convince her otherwise.

Because _I'm_ abstinent. I don't like riding any lust or desire if I can, even if it's on my own. I've barely touched myself, ever. Even now, I'm not entirely sure where I would enjoy being touched or how. What would get me going or what I would want done to me. What I would want _Max_ doing to me. It's all a vague collection of stroking and heavy breathing whenever I see it inside my head.

I don't masturbate. At least, I haven't for a very long time. I guess, to a certain extent, I can't bring myself to do it.

But Max can and I’m going to use that fact so hard right now.

‘ _No, nothing's wrong,’_ I say. I hesitate before adding a winking-smiley to the end.

Or… does that make it sound like something _is_ wrong? I begin typing again before she can think about it too hard.

‘ _Where are you right now?’_

‘ _In my room. What's going on?’_

I almost thank God himself for how fortunate the circumstances are but rethink myself at the last moment. It's not that I'm ashamed of what's (hopefully) going to happen. I don't believe I have anything to repent for; I'm taking care of my girlfriend while keeping myself pure. It's the best solution to my problem.

It's just a little… embarrassing. Even on my own, this wall exists between me and whatever I want to accomplish here. Still, I can't dwell on that now.

It’s show time.

‘ _I want to try something,’_ I send.

Part of me wishes I'd planned ahead but I don't suppose that would be real.

I want this to come naturally. Hopefully, I can induce that same result in Max.

‘ _Okay?’_ she replies, a few smileys laughing afterwards.

‘ _I want you to do everything I say.’_ I add a heart.

My hands are far too sweaty for something so tame.

‘ _Sure. Am I meant to know what's going on? I feel like I should.’_

I just ignore the latter sentences. _‘Promise you'll do everything I say?’_

‘ _Promise sweetie. I'm not doing much tonight.’_

  


She's bored! My girlfriend is alone, in her room and bored. I just need to not mess up.

‘ _I want you to lie on your bed.’_

A fair few seconds pass by before he replies with ‘ _Done!’_

Okay. Now for the harder part.

‘ _I want you to imagine me kissing you.’_

I suck in a quick breath through my teeth and bring my knees right up to my chest. The screen becomes my whole universe for several eternal seconds and several possibilities on how this could go wrong flash by.

I try not to dwell on them. Mainly because I know Max wouldn't leave me hanging.

Thankfully, she doesn't.

‘ _What?’_

My girlfriend is so eloquent.

‘ _Imagine me kissing you.’_ I repeat. I bite on my bottom lip as my fingers begin tapping again. _‘Im_ _agine my hands drifting along the skin of your neck.’_

‘Kate’

Please don't question this. Everything else has lined up so well. But the next message isn't one I expected.

‘ _This is you, right Kate?’’_ Another laughing smiley.

‘ _Why wouldn't it be me?’_

I really hope I'm not making this weird. Just telling her what I am trying to do would spoil the whole mood, wouldn't it? And if I tried working it into another conversation then who knows how long I'd be waiting for as ideal an opportunity as this.

Her answer also interests me.

‘ _You've never done this sort of thing with me before.’_

I can't tell how that's meant to be read. Is it accusing? Playful or saddened? Come on Max, throw some emojis in there.

The lack of any makes me assume she can only be serious.

Or maybe she can't decide how my messages are meant to be read? Maybe…

So many maybes.

‘ _I want to start now_ ,’ I eventually reply. _‘I want to give you something nice to think about.’_ And a winky face for flourish.

No… wait.

I add another, blowing a little heart. That's more intimate than a wink, right?

‘ _You don't need to do this, Kate’_

I know, Max. I really do. You've told me so many times.

Might as well go big or go home…

‘ _I know, dear. But I would rather my girlfriend had something little more personal to get herself off to.’_

I put the phone face down on my my covers.

I roll over.

I bury my horridly red face into my pillow and wipe my palms against the fabric because oh my goodness I can't believe I just typed that out with my own fingers. My clothes are itchy and the whole rooms seems impossibly heavy as it all sets in.

Forgive me, for I have sinned. Mighty hard.

There's a little ping in my ear and I turn myself over to face my phone. I pick it up with both hands.

There's just one word.

‘ _Wow.’_

And that one words sparks a simple thought inside my head. It's a thought that makes me giddy with excitement, overpowering the paranoia and sweaty anxiety that's been clinging to me.

She _likes_ this.

The next few words also help, mind you.

‘ _Okay. I_ _'ve never heard you talk like that,’_ she adds. _‘That was hot. Like, supernova hot.’_

‘ _Does this mean my girlfriend is going to do as I say?’_

The answer was all but instantaneous. _‘Yes’_

‘ _Because you are my girlfriend,’_ I type. I feel myself growing bolder, more confident in what I want to say. ‘ _You are my little angel. Even if we aren't having sex, I will be the one you think about when you're on your own. In your bed. Getting all hot and bothered.’_

...

As much as those words are true, I feel a little dirty having typed it all out for Max to read. Confident or not, I can't help but think every word I type will be the one to go too far.

But… I keep going. Max has seen the message. I can't delete it. There's no way to go other than forward.

And I'm going to be _very_ forward with her.

‘ _So I want you to imagine. Imagine my hands pressing down on your shoulders, keeping your back against the bed. Imagine me biting at your bottom lip._ ’

I'm not even sure if I like biting. I'm just… wondering. It's the sort of thing I hear about, or read. Victoria said once that she likes being bitten.

Screw it. I'll type what I want. I'm here to make Max… finish. Whilst thinking about me. That's all I want.

Anything that brings that about is fair game.

‘ _I want to mark you, Max.’_ I feel so… n-naughty. Is that the right word? Strong, maybe. I feel like this should be bad, even though my hands are well above my waistline. Despite the objective coolness of my room an intense heat continues to gather beneath my skin and my back is becoming slick with an excited sweat. _‘I want you to know that you belong to me. I want others to know you belong to me.’_

But Max is still quiet. She's seeing all the messages the moment they're sent. She’s reading it all, taking it in.

I relax into my bed, just a little. My head falls into my pillow and I wonder at what Max is doing right now.

I have my ideas, of course. Assumptions that are very likely true but the image of it is something much bolder. I've fantasised before, in the ways that I do. Those times are always that, though; a fantasy.

Now this time. Right now, a few hundred miles away, on the other end of this phone…

‘ _Does that make you wet, Max?’_

‘ _Yeah.’_

She’s probably doing something really unbecoming. She is most _hopefully_ doing something unbecoming and don’t know if that just makes me happy or very, _very_ happy. It’s certainly endearing.

If Max were in my shoes, she’d probably call it ‘hot’.

It piques my curiosity. It… I want to know. Need to know. Despite all this bravado and adrenaline fuelled confidence I need to know that I’m doing to the right thing. I need to know this is working.

“ _Prove it.”_

That’s what I tell myself. The words are typed and gone to her before I even know what is happening. My breathing grows faster by the moment, fire burns in my gut with each ragged intake of air. My mouth is dry and–

My phone announces the arrival of a new message. My lockscreen is now the primary focus of my phone, timed out for however long I’ve been staring into the blank wall of my room. It could have been hours, spent just predicting all of the different ways my previous messages could be taken and what could potentially result of it. Of all the ways Max could respond.

_Max sent you a picture._

Oh my God.

This… She’s…

Oh. My.

_God._

Forgive me. I-I most definitely not partake in the flesh of my girlfriend – from a purely objective standpoint, I can’t; she’s far too far away – but I have a goal and to reach that goal I must open my phone and continue with these messages. To continue with the messages I need to open up the app.

To send them I need to see the picture Max just sent me.

I haven’t seen it yet. I only have the confirmation that it has arrived but that confirmation brings about so many possibilities. She could have sent so many things, so many pictures. There are so many wet fantasies wrapped up in this moment that I consider giving in. Just going with the flow of it.

I could join her.

I could let this whole sordid affair play out and bask in the afterglow.

I only need one hand to use my phone. I’ve been using two thus far, simply out of convenience. But I can adapt. I-I could let my dominant hand wander…

I could.

Maybe I will.

Not today. Not now. Sooner or later, I cannot say. But… perhaps one day I will join her in this… whatever it is that I’ve started.

Today isn’t about me. This is about Max.

I unlock my phone.

I see the picture. Max’s picture.

Out of all the possibilities that I imagined, I suppose it is one of the more tame. There is nothing on show, no grand secrets or hidden gardens revealed. Nothing that paints a detailed picture of how Max might look without her clothes or how she might on the day we enjoy each other.

Her midriff Is visible, that much of her skin I can see. Whatever top she has on is pulled upward towards her chest. But the main focus of the image is her hand, buried deep beneath the waistline of her jeans. A slither of yellow fabric reveals it to be below her underwear as well.

There’s a new message. Apparently four minutes have passed since she sent the picture. I can understand how that might have been too long a break; just imagining the tension circulating her brain makes me sick with guilt.

“ _I’m sorry.”_

Oh… oh no. No! Another message pops up right below.

“ _I shouldn’t have sent a picture.”_

No no no no no please don’t apologise you gorgeous stupid lovely brilliant woman I want this. I want this for you. I need this for you. _You_ need this for you.

My response is fast. Almost instantaneous, before she can even think about sending any other silly messages.

“ _Your hand better still be where I think it is, dear,”_ I send, swallowing. She can’t stop. I can’t let this moment break. She must not feel as if she cannot take a step forward for fear of being pushed back or – _“I might need a picture without the jeans, just to be sure.”_

My nostrils flair as the implications set in. I stopped thinking, stopped worrying and stopped trying. The words came to me so easily. Just like in every situation where I need to calm Max down, or ease her pain.

I… I won’t join in.

But even more so, I will not have her rejected.

She is not. A new picture arrives, with exactly what I demanded; a higher shot, her stomach visible and her top clearly bunched up by her breasts. Her jeans pulled down to her knees and a sizeable patch of warm damp on her… Pikachu boxer shorts?

I immediately stop to enjoy the moment. A smile tugs at my lips that slowly sets me off in fits if laughter and heated breathing. I control it, careful to not let time carry on as much as it did before but I did not expect her to be wearing boxer shorts.

Yellow boxer shorts, with little Pikachu heads patterned equally throughout.

Tight… well fitting boxer shorts that leave little shape to the imagination. Her hands still trapped beneath them, fingers almost visible beneath the damp surface. The slight transparency offers censored glances to the sacred contents beneath.

But still very much a pair of cute, little Pikachu boxer shorts.

“ _Nice underwear,”_ I reply. I can’t _not_ reply that.

“ _Thanks XD”_

“ _Nice underwear doesn’t mean you get to stop. Keep going.”_

All she replies to that is a single word; _“yes.”_ As simple as it is, it tells me several things. It tells me she is preoccupied, too preoccupied to send a proper response. Yet it also tells me she is listening unreservedly.

I am in charge of this situation. I am falling deep into the role I have crafted for myself but I am undoubtedly taking the lead.

That, it turns out, is something I like.

Yet, I feel Max is still the one that is giving the most of herself in this situation. She is offering photos of herself. To me. Photos that I have no doubt should never be seen by anyone except me. Unspoken as it is, I can still feel that almost tangible level of trust between us. This situation is private, special. It is for us, and us alone.

So… why should I not give Max something of myself as well? If it is only for her and her imagination?

The barest of an idea begins to form in my head, clearing away the haze that all of these thoughts of Max have set in. I’m itching to move and provide something new.

I send a new message, if only to buy time. To let her fantasise for as long as it takes me to think. _“Describe to me what you’re doing, dear.”_

I would be lying if I said I was not curious. As this all grows, I only want to know more, to see more. To feel in my gut more of this heated, messy feeling that I have never felt so strongly in my life before. I know it is lustful, I know I’m simply… excited. But this so new and novel and I just want to grab onto it. I want to learn more about Max

But I also want Max to spend some time with herself. I need to find something.

I wipe my far-too-sweaty hands on the covers of my bed and jump up from the mattress. I move to the set of drawers next to Alice’s cage frantically open each of them, hoping to see-

Yes!

Antibacterial hand wash. Perfect for cleaning up after looking after adorable little bunny rabbits. Also perfect for…

W-well…

I bring it back to my bed, not quite sure how I am going to do this. In the interim, Max finally responds to my question. _“Finger blasting. To you.”_

I’m not sure what term I would have used but it wouldn’t have been that. She’s such a _dork._ My absolute dork. Luckily, the giggles are easier to fight down than they were before. _“Good girl,”_ I reply. I search this newly found portion of my imagination for something further, something to push her even further. _“How many fingers am I worth?”_

Each step I take feels like that step too far. Each time, Max eases my worries away without even knowing I have them.

“ _One?”_

Before I realise it, I actually feel myself frown. Only a touch. _“I think I’m worth two.”_

Max makes taking each step that comes after a little easier. If she didn’t, I would not have made it this far. I likely wouldn’t have began this game in the first place.

I’m not even sure if what I requested is something she will enjoy. Or… something she is able to do for that matter. I just want her occupied, at least for a moment longer.

I look back down at the bottle of hand wash. It’s a clear liquid, simply packaged and with a little less than half left in the push-pump bottle. I pump a drop onto my forefinger and gently press it against my thumb.

When my fingers part, a sticky trail is left between.

It’s inorganic, squirted from a bottle but the look of it makes my heart race, my cheeks burn. Within the contexts of Max and our texts and the photos shared its paints a vivid picture of something I might have done if I was not so strongly determined.

I move out of the messaging app and into the camera of my phone, determined not to mess this up by accidentally sending something that would not adequately please my girlfriend. I’m sure any variation of the image I’m about to send would please her unquestionably but… I want her to feel it.

I want her to _feel_ this picture when she sees it. I want it to cause a physical reaction.

I turn the camera to ‘selfie mode’ and see myself projected back. The lighting is adequate, the sunshine from outside my window more than enough to clean the quality right up. I’m still in my plain old blouse, my hair no more out of place than usual.

Ordinary. Pretty

I need to be something much, much _more_ for this photo.

I pump a few more drops of wash onto my finger again, this time letting it settle between my middle and forefinger. After a second passes, I separate them into a brief peace sign. The thick liquid bridges between this new gap several times over, slight droplet pooling on my bed covers.

Fighting down a sheer headiness that seems hell-bent on clouding every thought process within my brain, I take in a deep breath and close my two fingers, rubbing them together in an effort to thin out the soap.

When I separate them again, both fingers are coated; moist with a clean sheen and web spreading between. It’s more natural now. As if they have spent much time somewhere altogether warm and wet.

Looking back to the camera, I bring the fingers up to the edge of my lips. The wash accidentally dabs at the edge of my cheek, leaving a brief trail of moisture on my face that leads to my mouth. I take a photo, not sure it is the one I want but pleased I have started.

I am sure that even without context, the image implied is a clear one. To Max, if no one else.

I pose several times, never quite pleased with myself. I don’t take a lot of photos of myself and often feel displeased with them whenever I do. This situation seems all the more important to get right: it is not simply about me liking the photo, it is creating an image that Max will find appealing.

I spread a little more hand wash on my fingers and, urged by the faint trail already there, to dab it further at the corners of my mouth. The more I do, the more the context of the image distorts. Before, I was simply holding moist fingers to my mouth. It wasn’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination but it was still… sort of tame? Something close to tame, maybe.

Now my lips are just as moist as my fingers, I single trail leading down towards my chin. I take several more photos, sure I will find at least one I am pleased with. I keep a smile the whole time, just in case.

Out of curiosity, I dab my tongue out towards my fingers, constantly tapping the screen of my phone in the hopes that something comes from it. The tip trails through the soap, several snaps and clicks sound a shutter before-

Ugh, ew. Ew, that tastes terrible.

No, nope.

Should not have licked the soap.

I dab my tongue in and out my mouth in a vain attempt to get the sickly taste away. I scrape it against my teeth and when that doesn’t seem to help I resign to swallowing the saliva left in my mouth, accepting my fate.

My fingers get wiped against my sheets, swiftly lowering the chance that I might have to eat hand wash again any time soon.

Satisfied, I look to the gallery of my phone.

Sixteen photos are laid out before all, all tiny yet I can only see dirty intentions with each and every one. Some show my whole face, others fall too short and focus more on my neck and chin than anything else.

For someone who has only kissed one girl and never had more than a few glasses of alcohol, this gallery paints the image of a very different person than me. The thought that any of these images getting into the hands of someone cruel, no matter how imperfect the pictures are, fills me with dread. It pools in my stomach, weighing me down. Lead, heavy and altogether an alien weight that doesn’t belong inside of me.

Doubt swirls, no matter how unfounded that maybe… I shouldn’t do this. That someone else might see. Someone else might discover what I have done.

It’s at that moment I get another message.

“ _You’re worth two fingers now.”_

The fire restarts. The leads turns molten and hot and I do not care about the perceptions of others. I care about Max, I care about her pleasure. I am keeping to my code while vigorously playing with hers.

I’m quick. I move back to the pictures and move to the latest one, hopeful. While the final few show me with clear disgust on my face, there is one that stands out above the others: me, a wet trail on my tongue leading to my fingers. Lips moist with a clear liquid and a smile on my face that I can only think to call cheeky.

My eyes, however, are half closed. Dopey, even. I crop the image to my nose, leaving everything from between there to my chest shown. I am dressed the same, still with my cross on show.

I am only a dirty smile tasting the wetness on her lips and fingers.

I delete the others, in no way wanting to ruin this opportunity. When I return to the messaging app, those three dots are flickering back and forth. Max is typing.

I send my picture first. As the only one to choose from it takes an instant. The three dots stop immediately and I move in for the kill.

“ _That’s a g_ _ood girl.”_ Send.

“ _Good girls get rewards.”_ Send again.

There is no immediate reply, nor is there the tell tale dots flashing in and out of existence. Max is not replying to my message. Almost a minute passes by and one thing becomes infinitely clear.

Max is busy.

I’ve been busy, I realise. The full recognition of my actions hits me, vividly hot and thick as it spreads through every facet of my being. Embarrassment and shame are drowned by this dark confidence that is slowly seeping from my fingers the longer I do not use them. I feel… strong. Powerful. Like I can do anything with the words I can create and there is no one who can do a damned thing about it. The only person who could is Max…

She’s like putty under my fingers. It’s like… anything. I could command her to do anything and I feel in my heart of hearts that she would follow through.

That is both exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. I’m not even sure what to do with this new information. It feels as if it should be wrong but at the same time I can’t find a thing wrong with it. I am faithful, I have remained pure.

My phone finally announces a new message. Five minutes have passed.

“Fuck.”

Perhaps ‘pure’ is not quite the right word to use. Virginal applies, most definitely. I used to think that they were mutually exclusive to each other yet now I can only say that I know differently.

And… I don’t think I mind. I’m okay. This was for Max, the woman I love. I have made her happy whilst keeping my own ideals. There is no loss.

We both win.

“ _Are you finished, dear?”_

“ _Yeah.”_

“ _Did you like my present?”_

“ _Definitely.”_

I’m smiling like a giddy school girl. There should something thick here, like lust or bliss but I cannot stop the sheer warmth in my chest. I drop my phone and clench my hands into fists as I excitedly punch the air in front of me, again and again until the excess energy is all but spent and my smiles is all that remains.

Yes! Yes yes yes yes a thousand times yes!

The next message, however, brings about another kind of warmth. One that I have felt countless times over the last year and a half. _“I love you.”_

Heat once again rises, this time behind my eyes. It pricks at the darkness behind my eyes and I need to breathe deep in order to stop any tears from setting free. I don’t want to cry right now, not over something as lewd as this. Giving your girlfriend an orgasm over text is the silliest thing to cry over.

Is this hormones? Leftover energy that someone else might have spent lounging in their own pleasure? I don’t know. Just knowing that the first thing Max thought of saying, after all of this was that she loved me… it hits somewhere I did not think it would.

With that, the final remnants of whatever this moment was have gone. All I feel is warmth and joy and the general sense of ease that I always feel whenever I am close to Max. No sense of that dirty power remains, nor does anything negative.

I’m left lighter. There is nothing close to regret in my mind.

Just… a bubbling sense of love, the thought of Max in her bed and the sheer affection I have for her. We are spent.

The game has finished.

“ _I love you too. Always.”_

But I look forward to doing it all again.

**Author's Note:**

> Never quite got around to writing a smutty piece before, as much as this can be called smut. I mean, it seems kinda close. Let's see how this goes.


End file.
